


Forge and Lathe

by larkscape



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clockpunk, Developing Relationship, F/F, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Magic, Mutual Pining, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 17:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13641024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkscape/pseuds/larkscape
Summary: Mila, a master mechanimator, spends her days designing and building magical clockwork automatons for discerning customers. Sara, the best alchemetalsmith in the city, is Mila's good friend and occasional collaborator. When Mila takes Victor's commission for a gold clockwork poodle, she knows just where to turn for the materials... and assistance in raising enough energy for the animation.For all her dreaming, though, she doesn't truly expect her arrangement with Sara to lead to more.





	Forge and Lathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orangegreenlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangegreenlove/gifts).



> orangegreenlove, you mentioned steampunk and magic AUs, and it gave me a mental image of Mila and Sara getting sexy in waistcoats. Then the idea grew legs. I hope you enjoy it!

“He wants a dog, Sara. A _dog._ I built more complicated automatons when I was _six._ I’m almost insulted by the request.”

“This is Victor you’re talking about, though; I assume he has a very specific list of requirements.”

“Oh, certainly. Why else do you think I came to you?”

“Because you enjoy my company?”

“Besides the obvious.” Mila sighed and adjusted her waistcoat. The armchairs in Sara’s parlor were entirely too plush; sinking so deep into the upholstery invariably left Mila feeling strangled by her own clothing.

Knowing Sara, that was likely purposeful.

“Well, show me the list,” Sara said, waving an imperious hand, and Mila handed over a folded sheet of parchment covered in Victor’s artful script. Sara inspected it for a long moment.

“Oh, it’ll be quite large. Largest you’ve built since you finished that last ballerina for Lilia, if I’m not mistaken. He wants it to dance? And the whole thing done in gold.” Sara shot her a sly look. “He must be paying quite handsomely.”

Mila snorted her amusement. No matter how sweet otherwise, Sara was ruthless in her bargaining, even with old friends — hence the chairs. “You’re the only alchemetalsmith in the city who can forge gold hard enough to build it with and you know it. Stop being disingenuous. Market rate for the metal plus our usual fifteen percent arrangement for the strengthening enchantments.”

Sara hid a smile behind her lace-gloved fingers and remained silent.

“Fine, fine, you won’t agree to anything until you get the gossip, I know.” Mila leaned in conspiratorially. It took two tries to escape the clutches of the cushion. “It’s to be a courting gift for Katsuki, when the Okukawa Company comes back for that joint production next month.”

“Oh, that’s _perfect,”_ said Sara, dropping her cool facade and laughing delightedly. “I didn’t realize Victor was so thoroughly spellbound by him that night. Poor Yuuri won’t know what hit him.”

“I need to build it before any courting can happen, and animating this one will require a substantial push.” Mila slid even closer, so her lips brushed Sara’s dark hair. “Would you be willing to lend your… extra services again?”

With a sultry twist of her lips, Sara replied, “Of course.”

 

Sara took one look at Mila’s haggard face on her doorstep Monday afternoon and immediately inquired, “Who broke Georgi’s heart this week?”

“No one, surprisingly enough. No, this?” Mila gestured to her unkempt hair, the bags under her eyes, the slump of her shoulders. “This was all Vitya. I’ve never seen him so frantic. I had to call in Yurochka to get him to clear out.”

“Using a cannon to swat a fly?”

“Would I look like this from just a fly? Vitya is no fly; he’s a dragon. He kept me up half the night, both last night and the one before, with last-minute revisions.” Mila shook her head. “As if Katsuki will care whether the thing barks in C major or D.”

“All’s fair in the pursuit of love,” Sara said, then winked. “And wooing drunken flirts. Though I hope you charged Victor for your time.”

“I’d be an idiot not to.”

“And you’re far from an idiot. But think of it! We’re doing important work here, drawing together the unlikeliest of couples. Crispino and Babicheva, the love doctors! Bringing hope to the hopeless, romance to the romanceless—”

“Sleep to the sleepless.”

“You can rest in the smithy; the back bench will be free. Did you finish your list?”

Mila offered the fruits of her weekend labors: an account of all the gauges and sizes of gold sheet required for Victor’s dancing poodle. A nap on Sara’s bench sounded heavenly after the night she’d had.

The chance to observe Sara working was a bonus she’d scarcely allowed herself to hope for.

“Mickey is skulking in the parlor again,” Sara murmured as they stepped from the entry into the hall. “He thinks I’ll be working alone. You’re welcome to disabuse him of the notion if you’d like.”

“I know you enjoy watching him bark, but I’d prefer to limit the annoyances in my life to the ones I can’t avoid, thanks. We’ll leave him to stew for today.”

 

Sara’s smithy was one of Mila’s favorite places to be. Everywhere lay evidence of Sara’s talent, from the neatly organized smelting array to the sculptures both completed and in process arranged on the workbench at the back wall.

Mila made her way to the bench. Beside it stood a new piece: a life-size bronze sculpture of a siren with wings spread, perched on a rock amid ocean waves. Mila studied it as Sara collected her materials.

“That one was commissioned by the Regent of Affairs,” Sara said when she noticed where Mila’s attention lay. “It’s destined for the fountain at city-center.”

“It’s beautiful.” And it was. Sara’s artistic technique was unique among alchemetalsmiths; she sculpted orange-hot metal by hand, relying on the protective spellwork encrusting her thin deerskin gloves to shield her from the heat rather than the hammers or molds other artists used. The marks of her fingers’ passage showed in every piece she made.

Taking a seat at the bench, Mila turned to watch.

Sara in full smithing kit was a sight — tight breeches, boots, waistcoat, her sleeves rolled back and her dark hair pinned up to expose the line of her neck. She all but danced around the smithy as she stoked the forge, prodded the crucible inside, used her entire body to weave enchantments into the molten gold.

Mila worked in cold metal, drilling and lathing to craft her gears, but watching Sara made her want to learn the fires of the forge.

She tracked the arcs of Sara’s movements across the floor: hypnotic curves with all the exacting precision of a clock mechanism, each shift birthing a fresh shimmer of magic which Sara directed into looping patterns that sank into the crucible and disappeared.

Hazy with back-to-back short nights, Mila let her thoughts meander as she enjoyed the display. Sara truly was strikingly beautiful.

She was asleep before Sara poured the first slab.

 

Almost three weeks passed before Mila completed the fabrication and assembly of the golden poodle. It sat gleaming and perfect and utterly still on the top of her crowded workbench, surrounded by gold shavings and broken drill bits, the mechanical detritus of her creation process.

“She's amazing!” Victor proclaimed the moment he laid eyes on it. “I’ll call her Makkachin.”

“And I’ll call it a pain in my neck,” Mila replied. “A dancing poodle for a dancing imbecile.”

“Will she be ready in time? The Okukawa Company is due to arrive in less than a week, you know.”

“I couldn’t have missed that news if I tried. Don’t fret, she’ll be ready.”

Hand to his chest, Victor cried, “My delicate heart hangs in the balance! Everything must be perfect!” Then he softened, his gaze direct and fond. “You’re the only one I trust to do my Yuuri justice.”

Mila tried not to let her own fondness show too much. She felt herself smiling anyway. Victor liked to hide behind his theatrics, but she knew the heart underneath — a heart which had grown cool, closing off as the years went by. Falling in love had reawakened the vibrant, irrepressible young man she’d once known.

She hoped Katsuki understood how lucky he was.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she told Victor. “Now get out of my workshop before I kick you out myself, you lovesick moron. Finish that new choreography.” At his playful grin, she added, “And try not to give Flora too many leaps; I haven’t checked her joints in a while and not even Sara’s steel lasts forever.”

“Best mechanimator in the land!” he carolled as he walked backwards out the door. “Sing it from the rooftops!”

“Nuisance! I hope your arches collapse on opening night!”

Victor’s melodious chuckle floated back to her. “Lying yields only misery, Mila!”

 

Sharing her building with half of the Baranovskaya Dance Company meant that there was no room for Mila to do proper spellcasting if she wanted to retain the structural integrity of the walls, unless she felt like braving Yakov’s workfloor downstairs and rubbing shoulders with the apprentices. Yakov was _the_ premier master for mechanimation, the man Mila herself had studied with, and any student who managed to graduate his program was all but guaranteed an invitation to the August Body of Mechanimators. That didn't mean that his apprentices started out any more controlled than the dandelion-brained whelps at the other schools in the area.

No, she'd rather do her spellwork elsewhere. Less chance of destruction.

Distance presented its own problems, however. The fourteen blocks to Sara's door didn't seem so long under normal circumstances, but when carrying a solid gold dog the size of a large child, the second half of the walk felt interminable. Mila cursed her lack of foresight — and her desire to show off for Sara — and jostled the ungainly lump in her arms into a tighter grip.

“Mila!”

Thank the spheres. Sara was halfway down the block and headed toward her, waving. Mila hurried her steps.

Then Michele appeared between them.

“Roping my sister into doing your work for you again?”

“Hardly,” Mila retorted. “She's well-compensated for her assistance, as you already know.”

“I’ve got my eye on you, Babicheva. Don't fool yourself that I'll let you take advantage of Sara while you're under my roof.”

“It's not just _your_ roof, Mickey,” Sara said coldly as she reached them. “Professionals collaborate all the time. Your refusal to do so doesn't mean the rest of us are so constrained.”

Sara offered her arm and, when Mila hefted her burden in wordless reply, smoothly placed her hand on Mila's arm instead and guided her to the house.

“Mila and I will be in the spell room!” she called. “Don’t disturb us!”

Michele made a sound like an enraged bull somewhere behind them. At Mila’s look, Sara sighed and elaborated.

“Don't misunderstand. I love him, and he’s been a great help both in my life and in my career, but this is long overdue. He needs to accept that I’m a grown woman and a master alchemetalsmith and that I am perfectly capable of handling my own affairs. Easing him into it wasn’t going well.”

“So you decided on the scorched earth approach?”

Sara shrugged. “When all else fails…”

They triple-checked the spells on the door lock anyway, just in case Michele decided to take exception.

 

In the center of Sara's spell room, Makkachin — Mila supposed she ought to start calling the dog by her name, since she was about to wake up — rested heavily on the bare wood floor. The spell engravings were long finished. All they needed was a spark to set the intricate cogs in motion.

Well. More like a lightning bolt. Spells to strengthen and fortify could be complicated, but they were low expenditure. Inertia didn’t fight the maintenance of stillness. Animating, however, took a great deal of power.

“How much do we need to raise?” Sara asked, moving to the bed in the far corner. “For something of this size, I’d guess three, but I defer to your expertise.”

Mila followed her. The two of them _collaborated_ often enough to make it worth installing appropriate furniture, though their method was a little unusual; most mechanimators relied on meditation or elaborate rituals to raise the energy for their projects.

Mila had found a more enjoyable technique.

“Three sounds fine,” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Three _each.”_

Sara shot a wicked smile over her shoulder. “Best get started, then. They’re stronger if we take our time, and you know how I like to linger.”

Mila returned the smile with heat in her eyes as she pulled a cone-shaped mechanical battery from her bag and set it on the floor near the foot of the couch.

The device was her own invention, initially devised as her mastery project under Yakov and continually refined ever since. It was what allowed her to work such large mechanimation projects. The cone stood almost two handspans tall, engraved with delicate filigree, and housed a mainspring of specially-enchanted steel (another of Sara’s innovations) which would store the energy they directed to it until Mila was ready to work. The current iteration could hold enough to animate several Makkachins, or another clockwork dancer for Lilia’s company.

Mila nudged it out of the way with her foot and reached for the buttons on Sara’s waistcoat.

“Someone’s impatient today,” Sara said with a laugh, reaching to unpin her hair and lifting her chest to allow Mila better access.

“Not just today.”

The buttons slid free easily under Mila’s fingers. As she spread the edges of the waistcoat, Sara’s hands tangled in her short hair and pulled her into a kiss.

Sara’s mouth was heavenly. Mila would be lying if she said she didn’t seek out elaborate commissions just for the excuse of requesting Sara’s assistance. She caught Sara by the waist, fingers skimming under the open waistcoat to tighten in the fabric of her shirt, and pulled until their bodies were flush.

“Mmm, Mila—”

Mila kissed her harder, bringing a hand up to cup her jaw, and Sara moaned.

There came a flurry of knocking.

“Sara!” Michele called from the other side of the door. “What sort of project are you working on?”

Of course. At least they hadn't gotten further before he interrupted. Mila reluctantly dropped her hands and let Sara step back.

“That is precisely _none_ of your business,” Sara replied. “I said not to disturb us.”

“Tell me, Sara. It’s my house, too, and I don’t trust that woman! She doesn’t deserve your time. If you’re collaborating with anyone, it should be _me!”_

Sara charged over and threw open the door, heedless of her mussed clothing and kiss-reddened mouth. “You’ve overstepped,” she hissed. Michele froze, his eyes wide. “It seems I haven’t made myself sufficiently clear. Your reliance on me is smothering us both, Mickey! I can and _do_ win my own commissions; I’ll succeed on my own merits. You must do the same.”

“…What are you saying?”

“We need some distance. This— this _obsession_ can’t continue.”

She shut the door in his face.

Mila watched, fascinated, as Sara stood there with her fists clenched, her violet eyes flashing, breathing heavily through her nose. She looked like like a furious goddess. All she needed was a sword and a pair of wings and the picture would be complete.

After a long moment of silence, Michele’s footsteps retreated down the hallway to the stairwell.

Sara blew out a breath, her shoulders dropping.

“Are you all right?” Mila asked cautiously.

“Sorry,” Sara murmured, not turning. “I’m afraid I’ve ruined the mood.”

“Nonsense,” Mila said, stepping up behind her. “No mood is ruined if we don’t allow it.” She spread her hands lightly over Sara’s hips and, when Sara leaned into the touch, wrapped her arms around her waist in a loose hug. After a few heartbeats, Sara tilted her head in and settled her arms over Mila’s, clasping their fingers together.

Mila brushed her thumb over Sara's ribs in a slow caress. Testing the waters. Sara shivered under the touch and pressed her forehead to Mila’s temple.

“You know,” Mila said, “I find it unbearably attractive when you show your backbone like that.”

Sara perked up. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well, fair is fair. I find _you_ unbearably attractive.”

That set Mila’s heart racing. She buried her face in Sara’s long hair, nosing until she found her neck underneath and placing a lingering kiss there. “Mmm. Where were we?”

“You were about to remove all my clothes and then I was going to have my wicked way with you.”

“Right.” Mila’s whole body throbbed with sudden need. “Right, that.”

Sara turned in her arms and kissed her fiercely, all clever tongue and careful application of teeth, hands tight on Mila’s arms. Mila sank readily into the heated embrace. She drew her hands up Sara’s front, cupping her breasts, catching one nipple between her knuckles and rolling it through the linen of her shirt while her other hand worked to free the buttons.

Gasping, Sara drew back. Then with admirable enthusiasm, she attacked the buttons on Mila’s own shirt and waistcoat, undoing them in whatever haphazard order her fingers found them in and pressing frantic kisses all over Mila’s neck and chest as the skin was revealed. As soon as Mila’s breasts were free, Sara’s mouth was magnetized to them, sucking bruises along their curves, biting the nipples until Mila was lost in a haze of needy pleasure. Her head spun, her core clenched on nothing. Wetness spread between her legs.

She stripped Sara of her breeches, then impatiently shucked her own and toppled the both them, naked, to the bed.

Sara tried to climb on top, but Mila was having none of that. She caught her by the hair, tugging gently to steer her down into the blankets.

“Mila?”

“I am going to _devour_ you.”

Sara’s breath fled her body. “Oh,” she said faintly. “Yes. Do that.”

Mila kept one hand in Sara’s hair to make sure she stayed in place, though she showed no sign of moving now, and walked her mouth down from Sara’s jaw, along her throat, across to circle one breast. She flicked her tongue over the peaked nipple, eliciting a gasp, then licked the seam underneath where breast met rib. Sara’s hands clenched in the blankets as she cried out.

Oh, but Mila was impatient. She brushed a rapid line of kisses down Sara’s stomach and finally drew close to her destination. A soft caress eased Sara’s knees apart. Mila lowered herself into the warm space between her thighs.

Despite her earlier rush, she spent a long moment looking, drinking in the sight of Sara’s slick lips waiting for her.

Sara lifted one leg, rubbing her knee against Mila’s side. “Mila. Please.”

Mila pointed her tongue and drew it deftly along the wet seam of her folds. Sara thrashed, moaned, and clenched her thighs restlessly around Mila’s shoulders. Her hands flew to Mila’s hair, trying to drag her back in when she retreated.

“I forgot how you love to _tease,”_ Sara said, her hips shifting in a frustrated search for touch.

Mila smirked up at her. “Watching you squirm for want of my tongue is one of my greatest joys.” But she relented quickly, licking over Sara again, tracing her tongue along the outer folds and then dipping just inside her entrance, tasting the sharp, musky flavor of her arousal as Sara moaned throatily. And again, teasing around the outside, the smallest of breaches into her core, retreat. She flicked the tip of her tongue over Sara’s clit in rapid strokes and Sara’s voice ratcheted higher with each one.

Mila pulled back after that, content that she’d worked her up enough; now she would keep her up on the crest of pleasure, riding high but not tipping over into climax. As Sara had said, Mila knew how she liked to linger.

She drew away as far as Sara’s grasp would allow and slipped a finger into Sara’s wet depths in place of her tongue.

Sara groaned her name. It was like music.

“You should— _ohh—_ take on large projects more often,” said Sara between heavy breaths. “I do so love,” and she moaned again as Mila twisted her hand, grinding the heel of her hand over Sara’s clit, “mmm, helping you work.”

Mila smiled innocently and slipped another finger inside. “A purely professional interest, of course.”

Sara laughed, moaned. “Of— of course.”

Mila couldn’t resist lapping at the place where her fingers disappeared inside Sara’s body, and it earned her another beautiful moan so she did it again. Then she added a third finger, stroking the soft walls, and pumped deeper.

Heat and lust lit Mila up from the inside at the sight of Sara’s body accepting her inside so easily; it turned her blood to molten gold. Patience could go hang. She wanted to see Sara come utterly undone in her hands. At Sara’s needy whine, she pressed up and fluttered her fingertips on that sensitive spot, the one that made Sara’s muscles tighten around her fingers and her head twist on the pillows.

“Ah, Mila—”

She set her teeth into Sara’s thigh and worked her fingers deeper, grinding over that spot until Sara couldn’t have stayed still for anything, until she was shaking, crying out, twisting desperately with helpless tears on her lashes.

Mila kept going, thrusting her fingers into Sara’s body and grinding her own hips into the mattress.

Then she lowered her mouth to Sara’s clit, closed her lips around it and sucked as she crooked her fingers inside, and Sara held her down by the hair and bucked into her mouth, clenching and shuddering and moaning into dazzling climax.

The sight of it made Mila squeeze her thighs together. She was achingly, unbearably empty.

Oh, this was going to be a _good_ day.

For several long moments Sara lay there, quiet and content with a hazy look in her half-lidded eyes, but Mila had hardly parted her lips to speak when Sara beat her to it.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice thick with leftover bliss. “I haven’t forgotten the battery. Move it closer for me?”

Mila clambered to hands and knees, shaky with unsatisfied desire, then reached over the edge of the bed and dragged the battery to Sara’s outstretched hand. Sara found it by touch and laid her first two fingers on the point of the cone. Her eyes closed; Mila could feel the transfer of energy like static in the air. No structured magic, none of Sara’s gracefully looping enchantments — this was pure energy stored in a coiled mainspring, waiting to spark the engraved spellwork already completed on Makkachin’s gold skin.

“One down,” Sara said through a lazy smile.

“Two more to go,” Mila replied, “and three for me. I brought a gift.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a new device.” Mila fished around in her bag as she spoke. “There’s such a focus on reducing vibration in clockwork mechanisms, but what if we increased it instead? That’s how I ended up with this.” She held up her newest creation: a smooth curve of steel with two rounded, bulbous ends, polished to a high sheen. “The inner workings are quite elegant, but I had to hide it all behind the metal. Engravings and cutaways would ruin it for its intended purpose.”

Sara huffed impatiently. “You still haven’t told me what the purpose _is.”_

“It’s better demonstrated than described. If I may?”

At Sara’s nod, Mila stroked one smooth end down the midline of her body, between her breasts, down her stomach, over her navel and lower until she reached the hair between her legs. Lower still. Sara gasped when cold steel parted her swollen folds and brushed her clit.

“Ah, that’s—”

Mila focused and channeled a tiny spark of energy into the device.

“Oh! Mila, what— it— it _vibrates,_ Mila, you. Hnngh.” Sara couldn’t catch her breath. Mila felt a great swell of satisfaction.

“Would you like me to put it inside?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I want you to— ah! Oh, oh Mila—”

“Yes?” Mila purred in her ear, working the device deeper into Sara’s body. She tilted it slightly, searching for that spot again. No doubt Sara’s reaction to vibrating steel instead of fingers pressing against those sensitive nerves would be extraordinary.

When she found it, Sara’s voice broke apart on a whine. “Hnn, there! Ha— harder. Please. _Please.”_

“I love watching you fall apart for me.”

“And I love, mmm, how you make me fall apart. Oh, _oh,_ don’t stop.”

Mila climbed over her and straddled her legs. “There’s a reason I made it double-ended, Sara.”

Sara looked up at her, wide-eyed as she processed the implication. “I shall never— _hnnn!_ Never again underestimate your dedication. Mila. Let me see?”

Mila spread her knees further so she was splayed open over Sara’s thighs, offering a perfect view as she tilted her pelvis up and nudged the free end of the device against her own dripping entrance. It buzzed mercilessly on her clit. She circled her hips, chasing the sensation, moving the device inside Sara as she ground against it.

“Mila,” Sara panted, “Mila, come down here. I want to touch you, I need—”

She let herself fold forward into Sara’s reaching arms. Their mouths met in a searing kiss, deep, messy, and this was where she’d longed to be, right here, wrapped up in Sara’s soft skin and skilled tongue, losing her senses to the vibration of the device between her legs and Sara right there with her. Mila shifted until the bulbous end of the device rested against her throbbing entrance, and then she shifted again and it slid in.

Under her, Sara rocked her hips up. The device sank deeper into Mila’s wet core, stretching her, forcing her open around unforgiving steel, and Mila cried out and tipped her hips into the intrusion. Her movement drove it back into Sara, and suddenly they had a rhythm, rocking into each other and pumping the device between them.

Mila grasped at whatever she could reach — Sara’s breast, her shoulder, a handful of her long hair — and held on for dear life.

Sara’s hands roved over her back, scratching and stroking in unpredictable turns. “Mila—”

“Ah, Sara— _hnn, yes, yes—”_

Climax speared ruthlessly through Mila, a swordpoint scraping over raw nerves from the center out. She shook through it, thrashing on top of Sara, grinding down on the vibrating steel and nearly weeping with the clench of her pleasure. She could hardly stand how good it felt.

But Sara wouldn’t let her pull away, pinning her hips down, holding the relentless buzz of the device buried inside her body while Sara climbed to her own peak. Mila tried, weakly, to lift off, but Sara’s fingers bit into her hips, Sara’s teeth bit into her shoulder, Sara’s body writhed against hers in a surfeit of sensation.

It was too much, _too much—_

A second wave, another stab of blinding release. It struck Mila dizzy and speechless. Breath wouldn’t come to her lungs. She shivered, keened, collapsed on top of Sara, spent and weak with bliss.

Still the thing vibrated.

“Hnn, no, no more.” Had those words come from her throat? She could scarcely tell. One hand reached blindly behind her and found the tiny switch to shut it off.

The sound that came from Sara’s mouth sounded exactly like Mila felt: vacillating between relief and loss, overstimulated.

They lay there, limbs tangled, while their breathing slowed and their heartbeats synchronized. Mila stretched for the battery and let the energy flow into it — both her own and Sara’s, since they were still pressed so close together — then dropped back down and hid her face in Sara’s neck.

After a bit, Sara started petting her hair.

“How was it?” Mila asked.

“I need another moment to recover,” Sara said, still winded. “Your device is rather overwhelming. Though I notice _you_ managed to retain your senses enough to stop it.”

Mila smiled sheepishly. “I might have practiced with it a bit. I had to make sure it lived up to its promise before I tried it on you, didn’t I? Wouldn’t want to disappoint, though I’ll admit this experience was far more intense than I expected.”

“It’s efficient.” Sara laughed, breathless. “Pleasure for everyone. Kill two birds with one stone.”

“Three,” Mila corrected. “Though no birds, just little deaths.”

Sara laughed again. Her breath ghosted warm across Mila’s throat.

“Here,” Mila said. “Let me show you; there’s a bleed switch right here.” She guided Sara’s fingers to the tiny nub on the back of the center curve. “Holding it down releases the mainspring tension for when you want it to stop.”

“You might have mentioned that _before_ now.” Sara’s voice was tart, but her eyes danced.

“So.” Mila looked warmly down at her, gaze full of promise. “Are you ready to go again?”

She didn’t wait for Sara’s answer before restarting the device.

 

“Shame about the gears,” Sara said in a brief lull, when they were both momentarily sated. “I’d like to see them. Could the casing be done in glass?”

“If the glass were strong enough,” Mila mused, “then I don’t see why not.”

It would be nice to display her artistry. She was proud of the movement she’d crafted, and she knew Sara would appreciate the turning of the gears even if no one else ever saw the device.

The thought of including it in a gallery show, though, with no note as to its purpose, held a certain illicit appeal.

“I may have a solution for you,” Sara said. “Remind me, _oh—”_ She broke off as Mila’s teeth played across her clavicle. “Remind me later and we can look into it.”

Then she retaliated, shoving with one shoulder until Mila toppled over and descending to bite her pink nipples into redness.

 

In the wake of her third climax, Mila pillowed her head on Sara’s shoulder and wondered how much longer she could go on fooling herself that this was casual.

She wanted more. She wanted the privilege of witnessing Sara’s morning smiles and her late-night frustration, her laughter and and her thoughts and her focus. She wanted to watch her sculpt from up close. She wanted to kiss her to sleep every night.

The question was whether Sara felt amenable to a more permanent arrangement.

Sara twisted out from under her until Mila lay face down on the mattress with the body-warmed blankets lying in ruin around her. Then Sara settled along Mila’s back and kneed her thighs apart to slide three fingers into her core, and all Mila’s thoughts fled in a rush of desire.

They were both overachievers; they went for four. And, for good measure, five.

 

After their afternoon spent lost in each others’ bodies, the animation itself was somewhat dull. Mila had done similar a thousand times before, and even Sara had seen it often enough to render it mundane to her. Mila held one hand on the point of the battery, placed the other on Makkachin’s golden head, and opened the pathways in her body to channel energy between the two.

Makkachin’s bark was beautifully musical, though. Upon hearing it, she could forgive Victor his late-night insistence on the proper chord.

 

Some time later, when they’d both dressed, Mila returned from refreshing herself to find Sara standing in the hall, clutching a letter with tears in her eyes.

“Sara?” She rushed to her side. “What happened, what’s wrong?”

“He… he left. Michele. While we were— He said he’s _gone to find other accommodations.”_ Sara’s eyes brimmed over. “It’s what I wanted; I should be happy! And yet— I don’t know why I—”

Mila opened her arms and Sara fell into them.

“Shh,” Mila whispered, petting Sara’s hair soothingly.

They stood together for a long while, Sara’s head resting on Mila’s shoulder, Mila’s arms clasped loosely around Sara’s waist. Every now and then Sara’s breath hitched, but she was otherwise quiet.

Michele’s departure was fortuitously timed, Mila supposed. It opened some doors which had been firmly shut before; doors into Sara’s time, into her heart. But she shouldn’t take advantage. Sara was her friend first and foremost, and no matter what clever schemes her mind fashioned to win Sara’s love, Mila refused to lose sight of that fact.

Eventually Sara pulled back, her face cleared of sorrow by force of will. “Well!” she said. “I suppose I’ll have far more time to myself in the workshop without him pestering me, which is a great relief.”

Her cheer was thin, but Mila wasn’t so callous as to call her out on it.

Instead she took her to dinner.

 

A sufficient application of wine made the whole affair vastly more amusing. Sara had brought the letter with her, and deep in her fifth glass she was allowing Mila to read it.

Mila, of course, couldn’t resist doing so aloud. And annotating, to Sara’s delight.

 _“Woe betide me, for my fair sister’s love hath abandoned—_ he hasn’t gone drinking with Georgi lately, has he? He must have.”

Sara cackled. “Wait, you haven’t reached the best part yet!”

Mila skimmed further. _“Fare thee well, my jewel, I shall hinder your wingspan no longer—”_ She had to stop for the force of her laughter. “I— I think I lost track of that metaphor; are you a jewel or a bird? Oh, I just can’t take this man seriously. Are you _sure_ you’re related?”

“While I’ll admit to my own bent for drama,” Sara said, wiping mirthful tears, her earlier distress long forgotten, “I have _nothing_ on him.”

 

Victor took custody of his dancing poodle the following morning. His grateful embrace popped Mila’s sore back in three places.

 

Opening night of _Duetto Stammi Vicino_ was a veritable parade of the city’s highest celebrities. Tickets had sold out within a day. It was the event of the season.

Mila, as a personal friend and sponsor of the Baranovskaya Company, held two complimentary tickets.

She and Sara arrived to the theater arm in arm, dressed in coordinating gowns — red and cream for Mila, navy and cream for Sara. Their complimentary box seats included complimentary champagne, which they appreciated thoroughly and with great relish.

The performance was arranged in three parts. The first act showcased the hosting Baranovskaya Company and principal danseur Victor Nikiforov as Lord Rossi in a story of unrequited love and longing. Much of the choreography was Victor’s, as well, including that performed by the Baranovskaya Company’s four clockwork dancers.

All four were born on Mila’s workbench. They were the pride of the Company, and the envy of their rivals.

After a brief intermission, the visiting Okukawa Company performed the second act, the story of Lord Kudou, the object of Rossi’s affection who, unbeknownst to Rossi, in fact returned his love but believed his suit hopeless.

The role of Kudou was danced by Katsuki Yuuri.

The third act was only one dance: a duet between Rossi and Kudou as they confessed their love. Victor and Yuuri had each learned their choreography over the month between the Okukawa Company’s visits to the city, but they’d only had one day to practice together before that night’s performance.

No one could tell. The two of them danced as if they had lived the story.

As more than half the audience could attest, that was, in fact, true.

Except for the last act.

 

“I did _not_ cry,” Mila insisted to Victor after the show, “and if Sara attempts to convince you otherwise then you should know that she is a filthy liar.”

“Of course!” Victor said brightly. The sparkle in his eyes told her that he didn’t believe a word. “Don’t be ashamed to cry, though, my dear Mila. The story of true love affects us all. Yourself especially, wouldn’t you say?”

Mila turned up her nose. “I must find myself another glass of champagne,” she said as Sara returned from her brief chat with Emil, who had been in the next booth over from theirs. “Go moon over your moody danseur love, Vitya. Have you given him the poodle yet?”

“I’m bringing her to him shortly. She’s waiting with Lilia until my Yuuri reappears from darkest backstage.”

“I wish you the best of luck in your pursuit, Victor,” Sara said. “I admit I’m quite invested in your romance at this point.”

“Thank you. Ah, there he is! The man of the evening!”

Victor winked, and he and his outsized affection took off across the richly carpeted lobby for the far door where Yuuri had just emerged.

Sara looked at Mila from the corner of her eye. “Please tell me you weren’t joking about that glass of champagne. I’m afraid I may need the fortification for the display we’re about to witness.”

Before Mila could reply that she never joked about champagne, Sara’s fingers tightened on her arm.

“Look! I can’t believe I missed it before.” She pulled Mila toward the center of the lobby and the shimmering copper sculpture of a ballerina in arabesque penché. “It’s Mickey’s,” she said quietly.

“I had no idea he’d been chosen for the centerpiece.”

“Yes, he’d been working on it for a month. This is a whole new piece, though; he must have scrapped the previous one. But this one is so much better! Look at the line here, what he’s done with the turn of her leg. I've never seen such expressiveness from him.” Sara’s eyes sparkled. “He’s grown so much in six days, I can hardly believe it.”

Mila smiled at her enthusiasm. “The split has done him good.”

Then Sara spotted the artist himself across the lobby and took off running. “Mickey!”

“Sara?”

She crashed into his arms in a fierce hug. “Look how much you’ve accomplished! I’m so proud of you. This separation truly is for the best!”

“But—”

Sara didn’t give him a chance to respond, darting back to Mila’s side. Michele stood there for a moment, frozen with shock, then looked over and caught Mila’s eye.

She couldn’t resist sending him a gloating smirk.

He scowled and turned away, barely avoiding running over Victor and Katsuki, who were conversing — arguing? Flirting? Likely all three — behind him.

“Victor, no,” a red-faced Katsuki was protesting with raised hands, “she’s far too much! I can’t accept a gift like this.”

“I absolutely insist,” Victor said, leaning in. Makkachin wagged at their feet.

Mila and Sara sighed in tandem.

“There’s only so much one can do,” Mila said philosophically. “They’ll have to figure out the rest for themselves.”

“I hope they do it soon,” Sara replied, “or the rest of us shall perish of exposure to Victor’s pining.“

 

“With the success of _Duetto Stammi Vicino,”_ Mila said a week later, resting on Sara’s chest after another energy collaboration (a laundry-collecting automaton this time, commissioned by the matron of Rapsodie Inn), “Lilia wants three new dancers before the year is up. And Minako of the Okukawa Company is considering commissions, too. Are you still willing to lend your assistance?”

“Why don’t you find a regular partner for your spells?” Sara asked quietly. “Since you need one so often.”

Mila pulled her closer, heart pounding. She couldn’t have asked for a better opening; she’d best not squander it.

“I thought I already had one. Top-rated alchemetallurgy, masterful spellwork, and excellent company besides.” She kissed Sara’s nose. “You’re the best of all possible worlds.”

“And you,” Sara said, blushing, “are an incorrigible flirt.”

“Only with you.”

Sara clutched her tighter. A thousand wings fluttered under Mila’s breastbone, taking up her lungs’ space and shortening her breath. She stroked the backs of her fingers over Sara’s cheek.

“You know, Mila,” Sara said, her tone playfully light, “It’s been lonely here with Michele gone. And there’s a spare work room now…”

_Oh._

Mila couldn’t contain her smile and didn’t bother trying. “Hmm. It _would_ save me a walk across town for supplies… Why, Sara!” She gasped in mock offense. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you had designs on my virtue.”

“What virtue?” Sara teased. “No, Mila, I have a _cabinet_ full of designs.”

A tongue of flame ignited in Mila’s core.

“A whole cabinet? That sounds very, mmm, thorough. How delightful.” Mila cupped Sara’s jaw and tilted her so their mouths lined up. “Tell me more about these designs of yours.”

“The first involves installing you in my bedroom and not letting you out for a week.”

“Can I bring my toy box? I’ve made another vibrating device.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

The steady light in Sara’s eyes implied a great depth of feeling, but no, unspoken agreements were too fragile. Mila needed to hear it out loud. She pressed a long kiss to Sara’s lips, then pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together.

“You have only to say the word,” she murmured, “and I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

Sara smiled at her like the sun dawning, golden and brilliant and warm. Mila felt it down to her toes.

“Then stay, Mila. Stay with me.”

 


End file.
